The Aftermath
by midnightbynight
Summary: The war is over but both Draco & Hermione are fighting to get past the horrors of last year.  They're chosen as head boy & girl, but if they want to survive this year they'll need to overcome their struggles, and they'll need to help each other do it.
1. Prologue

_**Hi everyone! How's all the Harry Potter Fanfiction readers out there?**_

_**So I've been writing fanfiction for awhile, but this is my first story published under this name. I have friends who read fanfiction on this site, but they really don't like angst or smut or anything like that, and I'm planning on having both in this story. If you're interested in reading my other stories under my other name, PM me and I'll give you the stories names (I have two up right now, but I'm planning on putting a third up soon) and my other account name. One of my stories is uncompleted, and is a Dramione fic (but I'm still working on it, I haven't given up on it!) and the other one is a cute oneshot for Harry and Ginny.**_

_**Anyway, there's a reason why this is rated M - angst, smut, probably some underage partying, and definitely drinking and drug abuse. So if you're offended by any of those subject matters, this is not the story for you.**_

_**Sorry this is so short, the prologue is just an idea I came up with a couple months back, and I've been working on matching it to other ideas, and I finally found one that works! The rest of the chapters will be longer =)**_

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_**Prologue**_

The boy sat motionless on the floor, shaking. He couldn't believe what had just happened. It had been like a dream and a nightmare and a fantasy, all wrapped up into one. It had been the best thing, and the worst thing, and how could that even be possible? It was just one more sign that he was going completely and totally insane.

Hadn't his parents been saying it for months? His friends? And had he listened to them? No. And look where that had gotten him – sitting on the floor with his back up against the couch, shivering like he had a bad case of the flu, clothes rumpled and hair a mess, while the girl in the next room sobbed quietly into her pillow.

How could this have happened? What had gone wrong? Well, to be fair, things had begun to go wrong so long ago, but that was all out of his control. But no, the time to blame had been a bit more recent…

He could almost taste the memory on his tongue, and oh, how sweet it tasted, like his favorite Honeydukes chocolate. He relished the feeling as he flashed back to that moment…The sunshine…the bustle of the cobbled streets…her sweet smile that hadn't been for him…

And now…How could so many things go wrong, just because of one particular moment, one brief encounter? How could things be so messed up? How could he have let them get to this point?

But he knew how, he remembered the last few months so well, just like yesterday. And he closed his eyes, remembering…

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**_So not a lot of stuff in the prologue, it's just kind of establishing it. The first half or so of this story will be a flashback, showing how these characters got to this place, and the second half will be in the present._**

**_So read and review, and let me know what you think!_**

**_;) Midnightbynight_**


	2. Chapter 1 Addicted to Everything

**_Hey everyone! So did I get your attention? Here's the first chapter! I hope you all like it! =)_**

**_Disclaimer: Who doesn't wish they own Harry Potter? But sadly, only one person does, and that's J.K Rowling and, oh yeah, I'm not her. :(_**

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"_**How could this happen to me/I've made my mistakes/Got nowhere to run/The night goes on/As I'm fading away/I'm sick of this life/I just want to scream/How could this happen to me?" Simple Plan, Untitled**_

_**Chapter 1**_

_**Addicted to Everything Except Sleeping Potion**_

"Filthy Malfoys, good-for-nothing bastards!" hissed the shopkeeper as none other than Draco Malfoy brought his purchases up to the counter to be ringed up.

"Thank you so much for your opinions," he replied dryly, pushing the dried chameleon skin and pickled toad legs towards the outspoken man. "I will be sure to alert the Daily Prophet, I'm sure they'll be interested to know that one more person thinks the Malfoys are 'good-for-nothing bastards'. What's your name, I want to be able to quote you when I get my interview with one of the Daily Prophet reporters."

The shopkeeper scowled at him, his leathery face winkling all the more, his eyes setting even deeper into his face. "Smart aleck," he hissed. "Worse than your father, and where is he? In Azkaban! You and your mother should have been arrested as well, left to rot in one of those stinking cells, with nothing but your horrible past deeds to haunt you. That's what you all deserve, mark my words, you all deserve to be miserable, as miserable as you and the rest of your lot made these other people, the muggle-borns and squibs and muggles and such."

"When I sit down for my imagined interview, I'll be sure to issue an apology to the entire world for not getting myself killed," Draco commented, his voice dark and humorless. This man was saying just what had been going through his head for the past three months, ever since Harry Potter finally killed Lord Voldemort, the most evil wizard to walk the earth.

"You do that," snarled the shopkeeper. "But don't think for one moment that any of us will ever forgive you! I witnessed your father torturing a young muggle-born girl just outside my shop's doors. Her screams…How can you even live with yourself? How can you sleep at night?"

"Just fine," Draco retorted, now tapping his fingers on the counter. He figured it was better to lie and pretend that none of this was affecting him, rather than admit how his stomach was twisting, and how close to tears he was. "What's the price?"

"Eight sickles," was the reply, and Draco slapped them onto the counter, before grabbing the supplies, and getting the bloody hell out of there.

He crashed out of the door, and onto the cobblestone street, blinking in the bright sunlight. He was so blinded that he didn't see the girl in front of him, and crashed right into her.

"Ow – sorry – oh, it's you." His tone immediately darkened and his mood dropped even more when he saw who he had plowed into.

Hermione Granger glared at him. "Lovely to see you too, Malfoy."

"Wow – look who can come out into the sunlight after all!" came the annoyingly obnoxious voice of Granger's boyfriend, Ron Weasley. "So Malfoy, tell me – do you make a habit of running over girls, or is Hermione just special?"

"Ron, shut up," Granger hissed. "It was an accident, he couldn't see, and I wasn't looking where I was going, because I was talking to _**you**_."

Draco smirked. He was in the mood to piss off the Weasel, and honestly, the Weasel had set himself up for it in the first place. "As a matter of fact, Weasel, Granger is very special. I guess she hasn't told you, but I've been shagging her brains out since fifth year – or she's dreamed about it anyway."

"You fucking bastard," Weasley hissed, fists clenched, as if readying himself to punch Draco in the face.

"Yeah, that's me, the bastard, because goodness knows my parents weren't married when I was conceived – oh, no, wait, they were! For God sakes, at least use the term in the proper sense! Call me something else, but not an idiotic name that doesn't even apply to me."

Weasley glowered at him, breathing heavily. "Go fuck yourself, and leave my girlfriend alone. Come on Hermione."

Draco watched as Weasley took Granger's hand and led her away, through the throngs of people, towards an outdoor café with umbrellas hovering over small, round tables, and wickerwork chairs sat, cushioned with brightly colored pillows. He could see Harry Potter, and Potter's girlfriend and Weasley's younger sister, Ginny, already sitting there. No doubt they were out for an early dinner before continuing onto who-knows-what and who-really-gives-a-damn? He sure as hell didn't. He had never wanted to have anything to do with the Chosen One and his friends, although back in their first few years at Hogwarts, Potter had been known as The Boy Who Lived. Well, Draco had approached Potter with the notion of becoming friends – to use the term loosely – but Potter had turned him down and stuck with the Weasel. Oh, the tragedy of it all.

Thinking that they had the right idea, he wandered over to the café, and passed their table. Their food had just arrived, and Draco was nearly knocked over by the delicious smells of soup and lasagna and meatball sandwiches.

He headed inside the building, which was empty except for a few waiters and a couple of cashiers, who were there solely for those who wanted takeout.

The cashier looked up at Draco expectantly, and his nose winkled once he realized just who the tall, thin, pale boy standing before him.

Stepping back into his I-don't-give-a-fuck-about-what-everyone-else-thinks-about-me persona, he fixed the cashier with a steel gaze and said, "I'll have a bacon sandwich with melted cheese and a cup of split pea soup."

"What size do you want the cup of soup?" the cashier asked, cowering a bit, not quite able to look directly into Draco's face.

"Large," Draco replied coolly.

"Anything to drink with that?"

"No."

"All right then, that'll be seven sickles and one knut."

Draco handed over the money, and then stepped aside while the cooks in the back of the café fixed the food.

While he waited, he pondered what he had to go home to: A total mess.

Just like the apothecary keeper had said, his father had been arrested, but because Narcissa Malfoy had saved Potter's life, and Draco himself had switched sides – with several Order of the Phoenix members testifying to that – halfway through the Battle of Hogwarts, they were fined heavily, and were on parole, but were kept out of Azkaban.

His mother was now drinking his father's money away, and was seeing a joke of a therapist, who insisted on keeping her doped up on pills and potions that were dangerously addictive. Needless to say, she was out of it pretty much 24/7, and not a lot of company in the huge manor house with Draco affectionately thought if as his "own personal prison in hell".

Draco, having done a bit more damage than his mother had, hadn't walked away so lucky. Instead, he was given the choice – either complete community service at the Ministry of Magic for an entire year, or else attend Hogwarts for his final year of school. He suspected that Hogwarts had been thrown in as a choice so that he could be kept out of everyone else's way, and so that no one really had to worry about him. The new headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, who had up until two months ago been the Transfiguration teacher and the head of Gryffindor House, was extremely strict, and very competent in all things that had to do with discipline. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that she would be able to keep him under control.

He had chosen Hogwarts, and within the week, he had received his annual letter reminding him to board the Hogwarts Express at eleven-o-clock on September first, along with the supply list which he would need for his classes. There had also been a pleasant surprise – he had been made head boy. It wasn't a big thing, and two years ago, he would have laughed his head off at the idea of being made a head boy when he had _**so many other more important things to do**_, but now he appreciated it. It gave him the sense, the feeling, that maybe someone out there didn't think he was a complete screw-up, that maybe someone didn't think he was a terrible person because of what his family had done, and what he been forced to do.

He had no idea who the head girl would be, just that he would be living in the same dorm – although with separate bedrooms – as her. Well, that could be pretty interesting…Although the girl would probably think he was a monster, just like everyone else. So on second thought…

The cashier yanked Draco out of his rather depressing thoughts: "Your order is up."

"Thanks," Draco muttered, now keeping his eyes on the counter as he took the paper bag from the cashier's hand.

He walked back out into the bright sunshine, feeling that the weather was lying about the world – in reality it was dark and gloomy and unfair, not bright and happy and cheery.

He passed once more by Potter, the Weasleys, and Granger. He wasn't going to look at them, he was very determined not to, but then he heard Weasel say, "Hermione, are you gonna finish that lasagna?"

Draco involuntarily turned his head to see Granger shaking her head and passing her half-eaten pasta to the Weasel. It was only then that he noticed just how thin she was. Her cheekbones seemed to stick out, her eyes appeared sunken, and her entire body just seemed tiny. Of course, none of them were looking their best, they had all lost a few pounds during and since the war, but the change in Granger was startling. He couldn't help but wonder when the last time was that she had eaten a full meal. No doubt Weasel was a good excuse, an easy wall to hide behind, because he was always eating and had no problem with chowing down on other people's food.

But didn't any of the idiots notice just how bad Granger looked? Why did he? And why did he care?

_**I don't**_, he told himself firmly. _**I don't give a damn about anyone or anything. I can't afford to**_.

That didn't explain why he paused and said to Weasel, "You know, maybe if you let your girlfriend finish her food once in a while, she wouldn't look as if she was half-starved."

Everyone at the table turned to stare at him, and then Granger snarled harshly, "Stay out of our business, Malfoy, we don't need a Ferret's input."

_**Well**_, he thought wryly, _**someone finally called me something other than 'bastard'. I'd say things are improving drastically**_.

He smiled humorlessly at her. "Sure Granger, just remember that when you're at St. Mungo's being force fed while under sedation. Have fun." And he stalked off, until he was in the street. He spun on the spot, and compressed his body into the suffocating darkness that was apparating, until he reached the gates of the infamous Malfoy Manor.

There were once peacocks strolling around the yard, but they at one point had been killed by Voldemort, probably just because they were bright and colorful and his favorite color was a very bloody red.

Now the grounds were brown and dismal, as the only people who lived in the house were him and his mother, neither of whom were inclined to do yard work at any point. After Dobby had been freed, they had managed to find another house elf, but the elf had abandoned them during the final battle to join the Hogwarts' elves' attack on the death eaters.

He walked up to the front door and let himself in. The interior of the house was just as sad and depressing as the grounds were. The crystal and glass and china were dusty, or else broken or cracked. The curtains were no longer drawn open, because the sunlight hurt Narcissa's eyes. Actually, any light hurt her eyes, so there were never any lights on in the manor, unless Draco happened to be in a room by himself.

Because the pills and potions kept Narcissa from having any appetite, she never ate, and therefore looked even worse than Granger had.

He walked quietly through the house, calling all the while, "Mother? I'm home!"

"I'm coming darling!" came his mother's voice, and a moment later she descended the staircase that led into the sitting room, dressed in a white lace gown with a square neck, her blond hair curled and put up in a bun. As lovely and beautiful as she looked, her eyes were unfocused, and she stumbled on the last step. Draco caught her, and she patted his cheek.

"Thank you dear."

"Mother – how many of those pills and potions have you taken?"

"Well, you see dear, I went to visit my therapist today – such a lovely man really, don't you agree?"

"Oh…yes, of course…Anyway, you went to visit your therapist…er…what happened?"

"Oh, well, I told him that I had been getting these headaches – you know about my headaches of course, I believe I mentioned them to you yesterday – "

"Yes, now what happened?"

"Well, he suggested he up my dose, he says it will help with the headaches."

"Did you also mention that you have no appetite?"

Narcissa laughed, a high-pitched sound that sent chills down Draco's spine. "Of course dear, but he says that will pass in time, eventually my appetite will return. Until then…"

"Until then, you'll starve," Draco stated angrily. "Mother, when was the last time you ate?"

"Ohhhh…This morning, I believe? Or was it yesterday? I don't know, I can't remember…"

"Why don't I make you something, if I had known you had stopped eating again, I would have picked something up for you."

"Oh, no darling, I'm fine! I'll eat later, but right now, I'm immersed in this wonderful book that my therapist recommended to me. It's about this woman whose husband has just committed a heinous crime and…"

Draco tuned her out as he walked away towards the kitchen. Once inside the room, he lit the chandelier and pulled out his food. He gobbled it down, and then turned his attention to the potion ingredients he had bought at the apothecary.

Contradictory to what he had told the shopkeeper, he was actually having quite a bit of trouble sleeping, and had resorted to taking a sleeping potion every night before he went to bed. He preferred to make it himself, rather than let some lunatic at the apothecary screw up and poison him. Thus the ingredients he had bought that day. He had been running low on the dried chameleon skin and pickled toad legs, which meant that he had had to brave the hoarded masses of the wizarding public. Not his idea of a fun time.

He mixed up the potion, let it stew for the correct amount of time – two hours – and then bottled it, bringing it up to his room. He didn't want his mother to get a hold of it, not when sleeping potion was the only thing she _**wasn't**_ addicted to.

He plopped down on his bed, and closed his eyes, wishing he could sleep and knowing that if he did without the potion, he would have nightmares of the worst kind – real memories. So with a sigh, he took a quick swallow of the potion, and soon fell asleep to dreams that he would not remember in the morning.

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**_So what'd you guys think? Do you love it? Hate it? Like it okay? Let me know, because I would love to hear from you, and I would love to hear you opinions! I know this story probably doesn't seem too angsty yet, but I'm planning on putting more in, and I'd love to have encouragement, because it's not something I write very often *hopeful smile*._**

**_;) moonlightbynight_**


	3. Chapter 2: Nightmares and Starvation

**_Hey everyone! I finally managed to finish the second chapter! Thank you to everyone who alerted or favorited this story, it means so much to me! :D_**

**_Disclaimer: The only way I will ever be J.K Rowling is if a genie granted me three wishes. And even then I'm pretty sure I STILL wouldn't be J.K Rowling, or own Harry Potter._**

**_Enjoy the chapter! 3_**

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"_**Scream/'Til you feel it/Scream/'Til you believe it/Scream/And when it hurts you/Scream it out loud" Tokio Hotel, Scream**_

_**Chapter 2 – Nightmares and Starvation**_

"My dear Draco," Voldemort said silkily, his snake-like face twisted even more grotesquely than normal, "what did you think of our little show?"

"You mean, My Lord, when you took care of Charity Burbage?" Draco tried not to gulp too much, at the memory of Charity Burbage's body crumbling to the floor, bathed in bright green light.

"Yes. I was thinking that since you are in – how shall we put this? – _**in training**_, then perhaps you should be there more often when we take care of the undesirables."

Draco was now shaking violently, and trying to pretend that he wasn't at the same time. "O-of course My Lord, whatever you say."

"Good. We have one right now, in our holdings. A young woman, a muggle-born, who worked in the Muggle Relations at the Ministry. She is being brought up to the drawing room now. Come."

Feeling like he was going to hurl at any moment, Draco followed Voldemort out of the dining room and to the drawing room, where sure enough, a pretty young woman with long, curly blond hair, was lying on the floor, writhing in pain, from Bellatrix Lestrange's curse. Blood dripped down her face into her hair, and bruises ran up her neck.

Fenrir Greyback was kneeling on the floor beside her, running his finger over her throat. "…Smells so delicious," he was saying in a husky voice. "So luscious…When can I have a taste?"

Voldemort smiled coldly. "Soon, Fenrir, very soon. But first, let's allow young Draco to witness how we punish others for faking our true status. Continue on, Bellatrix, you are doing an excellent job."

Bellatrix smirked at him. "Only for you, My Lord."

And that was when Draco woke up. He was sweating and shivering and his entire body was quaking. He remembered that day all too well. Luckily he awoke before the worst had happened, but what he had witnessed…He had seen Fenrir Greyback rip the woman's throat out. He had heard her begging for Voldemort to kill her, to just get it over with. He had taunted her, and allowed Bellatrix to work the very worst curses on her, until finally he had given in.

The memory still made him feel like vomiting, and that was just what he did, once he reached the security of the bathroom. He puked until he could no longer puke, until there was nothing left in his stomach.

It wasn't until he sat back on his heels, gasping for breath, his mouth and throat burning with the taste of bile, that he glanced at the wall clock, and saw it was three in the morning, on August 31st. The next day he would be on the train, heading off to Hogwarts for his last year.

He got to his feet heavily, and managed to stumble over to the sink weakly to rinse out his mouth. Once he had finished, he walked back out and headed downstairs. He was much too awake now, how the hell was he supposed to go sleep after that dream? He was trying to wean himself off of the sleeping potion, so that he wouldn't end up like his mother, but whenever he went a night without taking it, the nightmares would return. And truth be told, all he really wanted was to forget about the pain, forget about the suffering, forget about the misery that he had witnessed day after day after day when Voldemort had used the Malfoy Manor as a headquarters for his twisted evil plots.

Once downstairs, he went to the kitchen, and from one of the top shelves extracted a bottle of firewhiskey. There was an entire cabinet of alcohol in the kitchen, and he was sure his mother wouldn't notice if he borrowed one or two for the night. And even if she did, in her current state, she'd probably applaud him. Then there was the fact that he was eighteen, and was of age, and had been for over a year.

He uncorked the bottle and took a long swig from it, before heading back up to his room.

And that's how he awoke the next morning, lying on the covers with a headache and an aching body, with three empty firewhiskey bottles next to him. On the upside, he had forgotten for a few hours just what he had meant to forget, and had managed to sleep without nightmares. On the downside, he felt like total shit.

With a groan, he managed to hoist himself off of the bed, brushed his teeth, showered, and dressed, before grabbing his trunk and heading downstairs to say goodbye to his mother.

He apparated just outside of Kings Cross station, in a crowd of people, and walked in with them, dragging his trunk all the way and ignoring the looks of raised eyebrows at the sight of the odd luggage.

He pushed through the barrier between platforms nine and ten, managed to find an empty compartment, and boarded the train, plopping down on the seat to wait until it was time to go to the prefect's compartment and meet the new head girl.

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The burrow was loud and completely alive with people running around, but Hermione Granger was not one of them. She was in a shower so hot she could almost feel her skin beginning to blister. She had awoken with a jolt from a terrible nightmare – a memory in truth, the same memory that had haunted her since March. It seemed like every time she closed her eyes and had nothing to think about, nothing to occupy her trouble brain, she would relive the episode at Malfoy Manor, when Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured her, threatening to kill her, Harry, and Ron the entire time. It was enough to shake anyone up, but it was twice as bad for Hermione, because she had other terrible moments to go along with that particular memory. Seeing Fred dead, and Tonks and Lupin, and Colin Creevy…Thinking that Harry was dead…They haunted her, and often entwined in with the recurring nightmare of the horror show at Malfoy Manor.

At last, she stepped out of the shower, and wrapped the towel around her tiny body. As she did so, she caught a reflection of herself in the mirror. Malfoy had been right – she was very thin, almost too thin. But the truth was, she just wasn't able to eat. She had absolutely no appetite, and what little food she did put in her mouth she had to force herself to swallow. But the ironic thing was, he was the only one who seemed to have noticed. Harry and Ginny were too wrapped up with each other doing whatever it was they did (Hermione _**really**_ didn't want to think about it) and Ron was, well, Ron. He would never win a prize in perception, and he was particularly stupid about her. As long as he was getting twice what he would normally have gotten when it came to food, he was happy and didn't ask questions.

There was a pounding on the door. "Hermione!" Ron called through the barrier. "Hurry up, Mum wants to make sure you eat something before we leave!"

"I'll be out in a moment," she yelled back at him.

She glanced at the clock on the wall as the sounds of Ron's footsteps on the hall floor faded away. It was eight-thirty; they had to be at Kings Cross station by a quarter to eleven, or else risk missing the train.

She finished drying off, and wandered back to Ginny's room where she got dressed and double-checked to make sure everything was packed and neat in her trunk. She took a moment to compose herself, before leaving the room and walking down the stairs to the kitchen, and into the tornado of chaos and commotion.

Mrs. Weasley was fussing over everyone, forcing toast ladled thickly with jam on anyone who came within five feet of her, and straightening out their clothes or using her fingers to comb through their hair. Harry in particular was getting this exact treatment, due to his hair never laying flat. Ginny was leaning against the counter, chewing on the remains of her toast and watching her mum coo over her boyfriend, an expression of both annoyance and amusement on her face.

"Mum!" Ginny finally intervened. "Do you remember a time when his hair ever stuck down?"

Mrs. Weasley took a step back from Harry, blushing a bit. "Of course dear, you're right."

Hermione had to smile at that. Mrs. Weasley was like the mother that Harry never had. She was pretty much everyone's second mother, once you got to know her.

Just as she was moving through the traffic jam in the kitchen, she felt someone grab her from behind, their arms squeezing her tightly.

"Ron!" she squealed, giggling a bit as he lifted her up and twirled her around. He kissed her on the cheek, directly under her ear. "Ron! There are people watching, for heaven's sakes!"

"I don't give a damn," Ron growled in her ear. "I won't be seeing you for – "

"For a whole week, easily," George called to them, smirking a bit. "That's like an eternity, isn't it?"

Ron glared at George. "You can laugh, but for us it is."

"Oh, of course, I forgot – young love."

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it," Harry told George from where he was now holding Ginny, both facing the rest of the room. Harry's chin was resting on Ginny's head and his arms were around her stomach, Ginny's hands covering his. They looked like the ultimate couple, so comfortable with each other, and so deeply in love.

George scowled. "I have tried it, thanks, and frankly, it didn't do a damn thing for me."

Ron tightened his arms around Hermione. "I'm not letting you go until you get on the train."

Percy rolled his eyes. "That'll make Mum's day. She'll be just thrilled with you two entangled in the backseat of Dad's new Range Rover; after all, it's every mother's dream, isn't it?"

George's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Did I just hear correctly? Did Percy Weasley just use sarcasm? For real?"

"Yes George. I, Percy Weasley, did in fact just use sarcasm for real."

"So what're you all doing here anyway?" Hermione broke in. "Aren't you guys supposed to be at work or something?"

"Didn't Mum tell you?" George said.

"Judging by the fact that I'm asking, I would say the possibility of that is negative."

"Okay, okay, don't get all Miss High-and-Mighty on me, Miss Granger. We're coming with you guys to the train station, to see you off. We all took the morning off from work. Plus we'll use any excuse to ride in the Range Rover."

"Thanks for caring so much," Ginny deadpanned, rolling her eyes.

"Hey, I'm coming with you because I love you so much," Harry insisted, brushing her long red hair back away from her eyes.

Ginny smiled and tilted her head back so that he could kiss her.

"Blech. Young love. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth. If you'll excuse me, I need to go and brush my teeth." George left the room, still grumbling.

Forty-five minutes later they were all sitting, rather comfortably, in the back of the Range Rover that Mr. Weasley had bought with his raise at the Ministry of Magic, when he got promoted to the head of the Muggle Communications department two weeks before. He had placed an extension charm on the car, just as he had on the old Ford Anglia (currently running wild in the forest at Hogwarts).

The car was loud with chatter, whispers, and giggles as they drove down the road, in the direction of London.

It was 10:30 by the time they arrived at Kings Cross station. They fought through the crowds, finally reaching the barrier between platforms nine and ten.

"All right," Mrs. Weasley began, "since Hermione and Ginny are the only ones who are going back to Hogwarts, they should go through the barrier first."

Hermione and Ginny nodded at each other before steering the carts that held their trunks (and a wickerwork basket for Hermione's cat, Crookshanks) towards the metal barrier and pushing through onto Platform 9 ¾.

Hermione inhaled the familiar smell of the steam and exhaust that came from the train. The exhaust fog was so thick that she had to squint just to make out the familiar faces of Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom.

"Hello Hermione, hello Ginny," Luna greeted them in that airy, dreamy voice she had.

"Hey," Neville smiled at them.

"Hi Neville, hi Luna," Hermione replied.

"So did you make head girl?" Luna asked as she unwrapped a large blue and red lollipop and stuck it in her mouth.

Hermione gaped at her. "How – how did you – ?"

Luna shrugged as she sucked some of the color off her lollipop. "Who else would make head girl after a year like last? It had to be you."

Hermione felt the corners of her mouth turn up into a grateful smile. "Thanks Luna."

"So you did?"

"Yeah, I made head girl."

"And Ron? Did he – ?"

"Did I what?" Ron interrupted them. "There you two are, we lost you in the fug. So what were you saying Luna?"

"I was just asking Hermione if you made head boy?"

"Nope, I'm not going back to Hogwarts this year, I'm just here to see Hermione and Ginny off."

"Oh, that's nice of you," Luna commented vaguely. "Hello Harry."

Hermione twisted around to see Harry join them, slipping his arms around Ginny again, rocking her a little from side to side.

"Hey Luna, hey Neville. How're you guys doing?"

"Oh, you know, as good as can be expected I suppose," Luna told him. "I stayed with Neville over the summer because I'm not really speaking to my father right now."

"Why not?" Hermione asked with a frown.

Fire seemed to light up Luna's round silvery eyes, and for the first time ever, a hint of something besides complacency and vagueness entered her voice: Rage. "Because he tried to turn you three in!"

"But it was to save your life," Ginny reasoned out.

"He should have known I'd rather die than have you Harry, Ron, and Hermione be killed. If you three had died, then all hope for the world would have been lost. Daddy should never have contacted the death eaters."

"All right Ginny, Hermione – oh, hello Luna, hello Neville." The rest of the Weasleys had joined them.

"Hello Mrs. Weasley, hello Mr. Weasley, hello Percy, hello George."

"Hey Luna," George said with a smile in her direction.

"Hey, we should probably go get on the train. Ginny, we'll save you a seat, okay?" Neville said as he tugged Luna away.

"Sure, thanks."

Mrs. Weasley rummaged through her purse. "Ginny, here's your sandwich…and here's yours Hermione."

"Thanks Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said as she took the plastic wrapped sandwich from Mrs. Weasley.

"Yeah, thanks Mum," Ginny agreed.

"You're very welcome dears." Mrs. Weasley smiled sweetly at both girls, just as the train whistle went off. She kissed both girls on the cheek and hugged them. "Now you're both coming back for the Christmas holidays, right?"

"Of course Mrs. Weasley," Hermione told her. "I don't think Mum and Dad will be talking to me yet."

"Well dear, if they are, then they are more than welcome to stay with us."

"Thanks Mrs. Weasley."

The whistle sounded again, and Mrs. Weasley began shepherding the two girls towards the train, the

others following them at top speed.

"Now, don't forget to write! We want to hear from you both at least once a week," Mr. Weasley reminded them.

"Ginny, Hermione, we'll see you both really soon," Harry promised before hugging Hermione as Ron embraced Ginny.

"Yeah, see you guys soon," Hermione said as Harry pulled away to kiss Ginny goodbye.

Ron in turn enfolded Hermione in his arms. He pressed his lips to hers briefly before resting his forehead against hers. "I love you, and I'll see you as soon as I can, okay?"

Hermione smiled. "I love you too. I miss you already."

The train whistled one more time, and Hermione and Ginny were forced to get on the train with their luggage. They waved as the train began to move. It slowly picked up momentum until it was going at full speed.

Hermione glanced at her watch. "I should head to the prefect's compartment. I might catch up with you and the others later though," she told Ginny, who nodded.

"Okay. If nothing else we'll see each other at the feast tonight."

"Yes, definitely."

Hermione dragged her trunk down the train's corridor to the prefect's compartment. With a deep breath, she slid the door back and stepped in. To her shock, someone had already arrived before her.

He had short blond hair that had once been sleek, but was now a bit messy; cool gray eyes; and a thin, pale face; and he wore the head boy's badge:

Draco Malfoy.

* * *

**_So did you guys like it? How did I do on their personalities? Let me know! PLEASE REVIEW! I really, really, REALLY want to know what everyone thinks of this story so far! I want to know that people are reading it and are enjoying it! And if you have any questions, I'll be more than happy to answer them...within reason of course ;)_**

**_midnightbynight 3_**


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